The White Pawn and the Red Crane
by Thescentofmoonlight
Summary: Anduin spends his first night in Pandaria after being saved by Ren Whitepaw, and reflects on life, happiness, and family. Just a little fluffy thing I did. Contains a little gore, but nothing graphic. Not sure if the genre is right, but oh well.


**A.N. Turns out my boyfriend actually likes my fanfiction, which will surprise everyone who's **_**read**_** the damn stuff. So I asked him for ideas for what to write next. And since he's semi-obsessed with action/adventure RPG stuff, and I actually **_**play**_** WoW, this is the result. I hope it's okay! (If you're just here cause WoW don't check to see if I wrote anything similar. Really. On my profile be dragons.)**

Anduin Wrynn lay curled up on a reed mat, looking at a lush valley dimly lit by a half moon. The air smelled of flowers and smoke from the campfire, deliciously laced with the scent of Pandaren food. Truly, it was better than the finest dishes in Stormwind, made though it was from a few humble vegetables in a pot. He was flooded with a strange sensation, flowing through his very bones, washing away the fear of the past day. Near him a man, a native of this strange new land, lay wounded and feverish. He had been hurt protecting a stranger, of a race yet unseen. Anduin had done all he could to keep him alive, but his time was clearly running out. But through all this... He was happy in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

It was strange to think that the last time he had slept, it had been on a familiar boat, in a luxurious bed. Fit for a prince. Ha! If only his father could see him now, on a mat on a hill with two strangers who were almost certainly 'peasants'. The wind sang to him, lulling him to sleep... He was so very tired...

_His father struck, smashing the axe away from his body. But the beast's second weapon cleaved into him. Anduin rose with a fury that burned every fibre of his being, calling upon the light to burn the beast, strike it, protect Varian. They fought, obsidian flashed, it fell with an unholy cry... And then there was his father. The spirit of kings had left him, he was a mortal man once more, broken on the ground, blood leaching into the earth of the graveyard as the scent of iron and lilacs seemed to fill the world..._

"Not again!" the prince cried aloud. Every time he regained a little peace, the memory would come rushing back and tear his heart asunder. His father had lived, and gone on to proclaim that healers would save the world, not warriors. It should be a good memory. But the darkness in it was what always stole into his mind. It felt like he would never be free of these nightmares. He tried to cling to the happiness that had filled him but a few moments ago... Why did he feel so at peace here, in a way he hadn't since... Well, since before the Cataclysm, before he even turned to the light...

_It was a warm afternoon in Stormwind. Varian Wrynn had dropped the affairs of state for the whole weekend, and taken his son to see the fireworks at the Lunar Festival, while jokingly warning him against becoming a druid. The golden-haired boy smiled like his mother, and asked if he could be a priest, because they helped people. The details of it seldom crossed his mind, as he was young and still free of the serious way of thinking adults adopt. He wanted to be a priest because they helped people. But Varian knew he was to be a king. "Well, you can start taking church a little more seriously, if it doesn't put you off your studies. Say, do you want to see if anyone here does archery? The elves are supposedly the best in the world... Although I suspect you may best them some day." The last sentence was said with a conspiratorial grin, and Anduin filled up with warmth at this honest praise, as fireworks sparkled overhead and the lake shone at his feet. The world was made by light, and it reflected in his eyes as his father smiled at nothing._

That had been a wonderful day. He'd felt so calm, and happy, and loved. Then he'd gone back to being a prince, doing tedious lessons in combat and history and a thousand other things he didn't care about. But he liked art, although the lessons were few and far between, and he liked to go to the cathedral and inhale the insence, hear the music and the prayers and watch the sick be healed by faith and capable hands. He recalled the moment when he'd first aided them.

_"Anduin, my son! Good to see you again! Can you keep an eye on this young girl? She's refusing to leave her poor father's side..." The old man bustled off again, mumbling prayers, as a child raised her tear-streaked face to Anduin and scowled._  
_"I'm not leaving Dad till he's okay." The prince scanned the man and daughter, quick archer's eyes taking everything in. His arm was twisted and his shoulder seemed out of place. There were a few cuts, a lot of bruising, and he was in a herb-induced sleep to stop the pain. It looked to him like what had happened to one of the generals when a block of masonry had fell on him... Set the arm, healing salve, prayer... Without thinking, he stepped forward as he'd seen the white-clad priests do many times, in this little sanctuary of the cathedral, and laid his hand on the man's chest, mumbling a prayer. Shafts of light danced around the bandages and the splint, silencing the girl's quiet sobs. Anduin's eyes were closed, he saw nothing. And when they opened, the arm was relaxed a little, and the darker bruises were fading. Light spilled over man and boy and child, and the next day, when the priests asked for his help, it felt right._

It was a world away from the songs of steel that always seemed to be playing in the king's ears, that he would have his son hear endlessly, the tales of blood-soaked battle and honour. It had gnawed at him, the feeling of distance between him and this so very typical Wrynn mentality, the sense of separation from his own flesh and blood. And then one day he said he wanted to go to Azuremyst Isle, and study under the great Prophet Velen.

The row had lasted for hours.

_"It's not that he's a Draenei, it's that you're a prince, heir to the throne of Stormwind, future king of humankind and the whole of the Alliance! You can't just become a priest on some passing fancy when your destiny is to be a great warrior, and lead your people to victory in war!"_  
_Anduin had looked up from the chair, his eyes sparkling with a mix of tears and determination._  
_"Father, you don't understand! I can help people, I can change the world, I can heal the sick and protect the young and old! I could stand tall as my own man, and no darkness could touch me. I could make myself something more than a bloodstained warrior, too hard-headed and set in his ways to listen to reason-!" He stopped suddenly as Varian's face became a mask of rage, realising just what he'd said._  
_"Well, son," the Ghost Wolf intoned, in the calm flat voice he sometimes adopted when he was furious beyond belief. "I shall honour your decision, but until you return to your path to become a true king, you are my child in name alone. And to think until this day I was unafraid of death, because I believed you would take my place as a great leader!" His voice rose throughout that last sentence, and it was ended with him slamming the steak knife he'd picked up almost thoughtlessly into the table. Anduin stood up so fast he knocked his chair over, and ran from the room. He packed his bags and fled to the docks, and it was only once he was halfway there that his father even moved._

He hadn't seen him again until that Remembrance Day, when they'd found themselves together in a graveyard, and later escaped death by a hair's breadth, both of them. It was a good day, but through the adrenaline he hardly remembered it, except that one horrible moment which was all too clear. He felt darkness within his soul, as he realised he'd been so unhappy all these years, as he learned and grew and became so powerful... And his father was still stubborn, insistent on beating the Horde, a true _damn_ warrior. Maybe it would always be so. The grass under the mat seemed to ripple slightly, but Anduin barely noticed through a haze of despair. He felt like the earth was drawing him in, like he was right to feel so broken, that things were bad and he should give up... Where were these thoughts coming from? A spark leapt from his soul and burned an evil tendril snaking through his mind. The prescence withdrew a fraction...

A bird. A tall red bird. The image appeared in the young prince's mind, of this creature flying across the seas... To Stormwind. His father's face replaced the white city. He looked worried, but controlled. His voice rang in Anduin's head. "My son is out there, somewhere. But if he is that man I think he is, he'll be strong enough to come home." There was a trace of pride in his tone, and the warmth returned, the darkness withdrawing. His father thought him strong enough, not as a warrior but as a man, to return from a strange land across immeasurable oceans. And that thought powered him, and for the first time in so long, he fell into a sleep happy, and was not touched by dark dreams. Instead, he flew over immense valleys and lakes, the beautiful land of Pandaria, safeguarded by a red crane.


End file.
